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late luminescence



imagine

isn't it so easy to imagine?feel the night's breath waft life into a book
a hushed melody crumbles
erodes at the nightless stars
as it puffs like creme brulee

coronavirus

COVID-19, with a little over 19
months until I'm gone
with the wind, with life
with heaven's plan and hell's pain
graduated from a childhood that is just short
a few years, stolen under spring's simmer

and metastasized into summer's sonder
as the AC freeze dries my sullen smile
i have often wondered if lying face up
on the street hollering as it burns outside my window
belly up, bottom's up
would free me

do you think death's champagne would taste like
rain and concrete humidity
as it rolls sticky memories of sunken lemonade
stands on your tongue
radio songs belted on the highway
trails off into mournful tears

and like the songs, i too have changed
too much, too little, just right
as i wander with goldilocks and the bears
regressing into a 9 years old's fright
the mirror on the wall doesn't lie
scraping chalkboard nails,
add 1 tally to the right of all the wrinkles
even the moon can't press from my brow
the memory of the sirens that scream "COVID-19"

corona virus

it puffs like blowfish that pierces my skin
salt erodes at normality, whittles down sanity
the melody crashes at the undeniable crescendo
a book knocked over the bed, forgotten
wasn't it so easy to imagine?

when it wasn't my last lifeline,
when it could simply be, not had to be

excitement depressed, repressed in my own head

imagine, not having to

imagine


August 07, 2020 2 comments

The polaroid was polarizing. It's rare something lives up to its name. As sprinklers weathered the white tulle, he listened to Mother's lecture.

"The shameless rule the world. My feathery darlings, fate floats in the wind. Only the flagrant can survive hell's star."

But as the picture wept swirling colors into the roots, he swallowed ballerina dreams. He wanted to be beautiful, yearning to flutter like blushing butterflies, exist dramatically like rouge roses.

So when the wish's kiss wafted him away, he didn't settle. He twirled, he grand-jetéd, he flew.

And falling, he wondered if all dreams lead to Icarus.



posted on: https://writetheworld.org/?code=3bd44680-09e0-40be-81e4-a18235598cc0#/viewing-a-piece/742902


August 04, 2020 No comments

graceful filigree, i wanted to be beautiful like them
but when i danced, baring my soul, they chanted

posture, posture, posture

i am a wobbly skyscraper ready to topple
among a world of mini glass villas

they are tiny rosettes in full bloom
stems arcing upright, princess petals flushed
with prim smiles and sleek hair anointed with morning dew

and i, the errant ugly palm tree
whose dry leaves are stubbornly unrecyclable
the frothy tulle looks ridiculous,
out of place, against my lanky trunk

the harsh voice of the laoshi punctuates my name
all wrong, all wrong, all wrong
the smack on my rump doesn't sting, but
the blatant disapproval behind it aches

too old to be cute, 
too clumsy to be elegant

and when they ask us to split ourselves
open against cruel tile, triumphant smiles mirrored
i stumble, still attempting to rip myself smaller
sweaty bar slips in my hairy hand,
wrinkled compared to their peachy youth

the swan's feathers unfurl, delicate lilting melodies
i palm the beat and am dragged behind every note
shriveled brown marrs pale marble

and when my nails tire of being filled with filth
clawing to be even a speck of mud on their dainty toes

the music plays, they bloom, I walk away
for years, their smirks and voices haunt me, taunting
swans and tulle, mascara and eyeshadow
avoiding all the reminders, the proof that I

gave up, gave up, gave up

so now, when they tell me to dance
I tell them I don't know how


Posted On: https://youngwritersproject.org/node/35893 & Daily Read


August 01, 2020 4 comments


Sage never gave in. At least, that's what I tell everyone now. It's how I want her to be remembered. Because she didn't when it matters most, and that's all that matters.

But, to tell the truth, she always caved for me. She let me see the world first, even if it meant she had to wait an extra two minutes. The bright hospital room glared at me, and as I cried I had smiles and cooing voices to comfort me. But when our uncles and aunts tell the story of our birthday now, nobody can quite remember if Sage cried or not. Uncle Danny said she didn't, Aunt Merriweather said she did. They only remember the color of Basil's wrap, how much Basil weighed, all Basil, Basil, Basil. But in my mind, I don't think Sage cried-- she would've simply given in to the light. That's simply how she was.

As we grew up, it was almost as if Sage was the older sibling. I may have walked first, and I may have talked first, but Sage always gave first. But her giving was never as loud as my demanding babble, crying grape juice tears as Sage handed over her's.

Later, Basil won the trophies as Sage cheered in the stands. Basil got into fights, and Sage went and tattled, saving him from a broken nose only to be spat upon. Basil locked himself in his room, while Sage slid cards through the cracks and waited for him to emerge.

It was also Sage who told me not to smoke, but stayed with me even when I didn't listen. But somehow, it was Sage who got cancer. Sage, who always followed the rules and looked after her older brother. Even when I cried into her hospital sheets sobbing sorry's that could do nothing, it was Sage who told me it would be alright. It was Sage whose smile wobbled as she saw her beautiful auburn hair fall to the ground, but kept smiling nonetheless. It was Sage who told everyone not to tell Basil that she was fading away like the summer green leaves.

As she hacked away her last breaths, she defied death as I broke to pieces beside her. I stood over her bed and begged him not to take her, that I would protect her. But Sage had never needed my protection and I could not shield her from the cells that rebelled inside, and as I awoke the next morning her body was cold and the light in her eyes had shriveled. And as two became one I had to reconcile myself with the empty room across the hall that still faintly smelled of sunlight and the ghosts of guilt that lingered over my head.

And for once, it was Sage who left first and Basil had to learn to acquiesce to death's demands.
July 21, 2020 No comments

The world is temporarily closed

or at least, the world as I know it
on the news, I hear of a world still open
open to a careful reemerging from their bunkers

so you say the world is temporarily closed
due to COVID, or due to ignorance?
I've seen people saying it's their right
to not do their part in this battle
the sheer stupidity has cost lives
but for you, are they just ever-growing numbers on a screen?
because what are mere pawns when you are king?

the world is temporarily closed
but mine may not be "temporary"
if we move to an open one for the sake of living
outside of this bubble they keep popping
i know i will never be the same again
because a year in a life is all it takes
to crush the bones of my soul
and rearrange my lost shards some way new

the world is temporarily closed
but is that any excuse to close your mind?
remove yourself from any sense of survival
you are bleeding us of our sanity
by stabbing us while the danger still looms
ever seeking those tiny rifts of vulnerability
you've carelessly ripped them into gaping mouths of death
oh, do you know what you've done?

the world may be temporarily closed
but my dear, you've turned temporary into an eternity
do you know my grandpa thinks he can walk to China now?!
this monster has driven us all up the wall
are you so intent to push us off it?
the planner's pages flip fast, but everyday you don't wear
that banner, a promise for an open world, over your mouth
you turn our lives into a somber drive towards permanent
so, won't you please sir, put on your mask?


Posted On: https://youngwritersproject.org/node/35703
July 19, 2020 No comments

sunlight stifled by the panes of scales layer folded down to protect the child from its harsh rays as a mother whispers "too early, too early" and the father snores on. slipping through the cracks into the floorboards the heat spreads until its unbearable, oh how could i have left the window open and let summer in? the babe cries and the mother rushes but she it too late and the hot air has woken the monster up surrounding them in hot stifling summer, no, my darling! it punches her nightgown and screams in agony as sleep is ripped from its grasp, accusing the mother as she stares at the window and wonders what she's going to do all summer now that her baby has been infected by the sun's breath.
July 17, 2020 No comments

2021.
the start of an era,
or the end of one?
or perhaps we shouldn't count time
after all, it is infinite and we are not
the *tock* of a grandfather clock
as another granule makes the plunge
are you afraid
of the unlit seaglass that will fall
when death is fated to coil 'round your neck?
the moment when your eyelashes
kisses the weary bags under your eyes
never to part for your soul again?
i have always been slow
but even i, who barely knows myself, knows
that even when 2021 comes
we will be reluctant to let 2020 go
fisting thorns in our palms
coloring white roses red
because isn't time always more romantic
in hindsight, staring up in one's bed?


Posted On: https://theprose.com/post/368390/coloring-white-roses
July 13, 2020 1 comments
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Message from Yours Truly

Hey, this is amaryllis :) So, if you're on here, I probably finally allowed you to read my work or this was a totally accident (happy one I hope). Either way, welcome! Also, as a reminder to those who know me-- remember that although much of it may seem like it's based off irl, some of it is fiction. Enjoy, and if you feel compelled to, I would love to see what you think in the comments!

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